I haven't written in a few weeks. Has it really been a few weeks? But there's so much to write about...
I guess I just haven't been inclined to. Oddly.

Nothing much new to write about, really.
Just the same old sadness. It doesn't go away. Not that I expect it to, not that I even want it to. It is what my boy (and his family) live with, now. And since it is my son, it is what I live with now, too. It is a new constant part of life. It is always there.
Yes, there are moments where it lessens, when there are distractions. That's what every day feels like; a distraction. Life moves along, whether we want it to or not. Like a strong current, and all we can do is ride along. What was it Dori said? "Just keep swimming, just keep swimming..."

People still ask- How are you? How is the boy?
I'm okay. I hurt for my boy. And his father and stepmother. His younger brother, his step-siblings.
I hurt for my boy.
And I miss Jayden, too. I miss his presence in my son's life. I miss watching all of their silly antics every weekend on Snapchat. I miss watching him tinker on their boat, or his dirtbike, or the boy's four-wheeler.  If the boy couldn't find something that needed to come home for the week (sneakers, lunchbox, backpack, you name it...), it was always- "ask Jayden." That kid always seemed to know where it was. I miss laughing at him every time I'd pick up or drop off. Seriously, he was one of the funniest kids I know. Him and my boy shared a very strange and hilarious sense of humor.
He wasn't my son, or my brother. But I miss him in this life. It is still unimaginable that he is gone from it.
I'm swimming along. Go to work, go to basketball, drive kids to/from school, get groceries, do work errands... But there are moments when even the distractions fail you. And it hits you in the stomach all over again. And you cry. You just cry, and cry, and cry. And you curse life. And you hate everything.
And I worry. Jesus, do I worry. About my boy. And his family. A deep, sick, painful worry.
And all of a sudden life seems so much more fragile. I wish I didn't live in fear of our mortality, but I do. I always have. It's just intensified, now. I try to live each day thankful to be here, to have my boy, and my other loved ones. But it seems I'm too afraid to embrace that mindset. I'm always too afraid.
But I'm okay.
How's my boy? He's living. That's really the easiest answer. He's just, living. He misses his other half. He is depressed. He is angry. He has a hard time sleeping. But he is living. Following the current. That's all he can do, really.
He is changed.
And I still hate life for giving this to him. To all of them.

Everything else that I could write about, everything else in life, really, is irrelevant.
But I try to keep going along, to just be- normal.

Thanksgiving was nice. It was a small dinner, just my kiddos, my mom, and my niece. But it was nice. I only set the smoke alarms off a couple times while cooking. And surprisingly, everything turned out edible. Tasty, even.

Work is good. Nothing new there, really. I have a good crew. And good bosses. I am thankful for those things.

Being alone is becoming a bit more tolerable, I think. At least I don't cry on my way home from work anymore. That must be a start, right?
Obviously, I'd still rather not be alone. But, oh well. Whatever. At least there's the dog. Then again, I don't really even like him most of the time.

Christmas is coming.
I've shopped FAR more than I should have. Spent FAR more than I should have. But I do that every year. This year I've been worse, though. Trying to make up for the shitty hand life has dealt my son? I don't know. Probably.
The Christmas spirit is elusive this year. It's very difficult to feel the holiday spirit in light of things.
All I want for Christmas is peace and healing for my son and his family.
But there is no Santa.

Shit. I've got to get ready for work.